Saturday, July 31, 2010

My mother, myself, my need for therapy

I'm sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in my hand and two dogs beside me. I made a pretty good dinner tonight - pork chops with rice and gravy, green beans and corn. Of course, I did country fried pork chops dredged in flour, egg and Panko breadcrumbs. This is the south, after all. It was okay. Pretty quick and easy, which is a good thing because, for whatever reason, I'm super tired today. I've already had two naps and I feel like I could go to bed right now and be fine 'til morning.

My mom was here for almost a solid week, and I think some of this exhaustion may be from her visit. She's a bit of a difficult person to be around. And she would be shocked that I just wrote that.

Having my mom around is like a crash course in survival psychology 101: How to listen to and observe a person, without being sucked into their dementia.

Her conversational topics of choice are: Everyone who has ever done her wrong, what's wrong with them and the nature of their psychiatric illnesses; her long-suffering - and by long, I mean from her earliest childhood memory; her children and how they do her wrong and have ruined their lives (present company excluded, of course. I'm sure she saves her discourses about me for visits with other people); how perfect her relationship was with my dad who passed away 7 years ago (and who, by the way, was an alcoholic gambler she fought with and griped about almost every day while he was alive. I now completely understand why he was an alcoholic); and the state of politics and natural disasters which are the ruin of our future and the future of our children and grandchildren. Oh, and also how I let my children control me and run my life.

She also smokes and thinks it's ridiculous that people should be upset by her cigarette smoke, and that there's nothing wrong with lighting a cigarette on the way out the door, leaving a plume of cigarette smoke aroma to be dispersed by my central air unit throughout the house. Silly me.

The hardest part about all this is that she's my mom. I love her and know she means well. She loves her family and honestly doesn't understand why we don't all want to be around her more often.

I think the hardest thing about being an adult is realizing your parents are human, with human frailties. It used to be so easy when my mom was the center of the universe and everything she said was right.

Now, I just need some recovery time. And a lot more wine.


Anonymous Heather said...

I totally agree. Have a whole bottle! But you love her I wonder what my daughter says about me??!!

3:04 PM  

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